


Heart of a Hunter Act 3.5 (a.k.a The Act III Epilogue)

by MuchAmused



Series: Heart of a Hunter Saga [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Act 3.5, Case Fic, Dean Winchester Whump, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, In it for the long haul, Medical Procedures, Much Amused About Nothing, Much Amused About Nothing on Tumblr, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Protective Dean Winchester, Reader-Insert, Sam Winchester Whump, Series, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-09-30 18:24:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17228939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuchAmused/pseuds/MuchAmused
Summary: All of the training and studying has finally paid off and you’re on your first official hunt with the Winchesters. A creature is wreaking havoc in a small town, a young man is missing, and, as if that’s not enough, you realize you’re not the only woman with an interest in Dean’s heart.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All of the training and studying has finally paid off and you’re on your first official hunt with the Winchesters. A creature is wreaking havoc in a small town, a young man is missing, and, as if that’s not enough, you realize you’re not the only woman with an interest in Dean’s heart.

It was nearing three in the morning when Sam unlocked the door to the motel room he'd secured for the night - er, nights … well, however long it might be until the creature who was wreaking havoc nearby was eliminated.

You set your duffel bag on the floor against the wall and turned to look at the guys expectantly.

Dean peeled off his extra layer of flannel and dropped it on top of his bag, collapsing onto the edge of the bed with a tired sigh.

“Dammit, I'm beat,” he said, stifling a yawn.

“You're showing your age, old man,” Sam teased.

“You’re showing my age,” Dean quipped.

“What now?” you asked eagerly, looking between them both. It was your first official hunt, and you couldn't wait to get started.

“We saw some logs,” Dean said matter-of-factly.

“What? Come on,” you pleaded. “Something is desecrating corpses, and you're telling me we're going to pass up an opportunity to stake out the cemetery at night before it realizes we're in town?”

Sam frowned a little as he considered you. “You know, she has a good-”

“Nope.” Dean cut him off.

“Why not?” you pressed.

“First of all, we haven't introduced our FBI badge-wielding selves to the local P.D. yet,” he answered. “Were going to want copies of those police reports, and getting caught at night at a crime scene ain’t the best way to get the boys in blue to talk to us. Secondly, we don't have the faintest idea what we're dealing with here. Blindly marching off to the cemetery at this ungodly hour to face down who the hell knows what? No thank you.”

“Bring your badge,” you responded. “And it doesn't have to look suspicious. Not when you're just doing good old-fashioned thorough detective work. We don't even have to get out of the car if you don't want. But if we do see something, it might give us a leg up and we can start narrowing down the possibilities.” You raised an eyebrow at Sam, hoping he'd take the bait.

Sam shifted his weight, stuffing his hands into his pockets and glancing at Dean. “I'm game to check things out real quick before we call it a night.”

“Sam and I could go,” you offered, knowing what Dean's answer to that would be.

A defeated half-smile tugged at the corner of Dean's mouth as he turned to meet Sam's gaze.

“I want it noted for the record … if some evil son of a bitch doesn't kill me,” he said lightly, “this woman is gonna do the trick.” He jerked a thumb in your direction and you smiled in satisfaction.

“You know you love me,” you told him, bending low to plant a kiss on his cheek before going to your duffel bag in search of your fake FBI badge.

“That I do, despite my better judgement, sweetheart,” Dean stated, but he got to his feet with an exaggerated groan to put this flannel back on and retrieve his own badge.

 

*****

 

The cemetery was quiet when Dean put the Impala in park and cut the engine. The moon cast just enough silver light to bathe the grounds in a pale glow. You glanced around the span of manicured lawn and the stone grave markers jutting up from the ground in tidy rows. From this angle, in the dim lighting, nothing seemed out of place.

It wasn't until the three of you, armed with handguns and flashlights, set off on foot to look closer that you found the two grave sites on opposite ends of the grounds roped off with police tape.

Dean spotted the first, whistling to get your attention. Sam gestured for you to go on as he continued searching.

You joined Dean, slipping under the yellow plastic tape to stand next to him and get a better look at the empty grave.

“Do you think the police took whatever was left of the remains for their investigation? Or do you think nothing was really left at all?” you asked quietly.

“Hard to say,” Dean answered.

You pulled your phone from your pocket and snapped a couple of pictures of the scene, along with the headstone containing the name, birth and death dates of it's former occupant.

You were just putting your phone away when another whistle make your head snap up, along with Dean's. Sam was waving at you both from across the grounds.

“Better go see what he’s got,” Dean said, holding up the yellow tape for you to slip under before he stepped over it himself.

“Looks just like the other,” Dean observed as you reached Sam, eyes scanning an almost identical scene to the one you'd just left.

“Looks a little clean, doesn't it?” Sam said slowly, deep in thought.

You realized he had a point as you shined the beam of your flashlight over the bits of earth that had been displaced and now coated the grass around the gaping hole. “The headstones,” you said, gesturing with a hand. “Does it strike either of you weird that someone or something would leave the grave markers completely unscathed?”

“I see what you mean. Makes sense that if this was personal, they'd probably wreck the headstones, too.” Sam added, shrugging in agreement, his own light sweeping over the perfectly intact engraving on the smooth marble surface.

“All right then,” Dean said with a sigh. “So it's not likely our guy knew the deceased.”

“Probably not,” you said as you snapped a few pictures of the second coffin-less grave.

A light wind swirled just then, fanning your hair out in front of your face so you had to tuck it back behind your ear to see better. Leaves rustled with the force of it, and a second burst of wind, stronger this time, hurled itself around from the other direction, prompting all three of you to cast your eyes about at the sudden change in the weather.

The moonlight dimmed dramatically as a patch of clouds covered it's source in the night sky, darkening the cemetery and sending a cool chill up your spine.

“Storm's brewing,” Dean stated. And you realized he was right, scenting moisture in the air that meant rain was soon to follow. “You two had your fill of this place yet?”

You nodded at him, pocketing your phone. Dean led the way back toward the car. Sam shined his flashlight just behind Dean's steps for you both to follow. A skittering of lightning in the near distance and the resounding thunder had Sam putting a protective hand on your shoulder as you neared the car. A light sprinkle of rain dusted you as you pulled open the backseat passenger door and slid inside.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A strange dream has Dean distracted as the three of you decide how best to gleam more information for the case.

The late night at the cemetery after the long drive into town meant sleeping in a little the next morning. You’d seen a convenience store with a Dunkin’ Doughnuts sign down the street from the motel on your way in the night before and decided to walk over while Sam and Dean were still sleeping to retrieve what would at least pass as an unhealthy breakfast. You figured you owed them that much after dragging them out into the cemetery in the middle of the night.

You took a quick shower and dressed in jeans, a tank top, and a flannel, tucking your firearm into the holster inside the waistband of your pants before you picked up one of the motel room keys from the tv stand where Dean had left it. You left a little note on the nightstand, just in case, and slipped outside quietly, hoping they’d both be able to continue sleeping until you returned.

The only evidence remaining of last night’s downpour was the occasional puddle in the parking lot and on the road as you headed down the street. The convenience store did not disappoint in the way of doughnuts, although you suspected the coffee left something to be desired. You filled three cups, grabbed some sugar packets and those little cream-cups just in case you needed to dilute the taste with something sweeter, and threw in a dozen doughnuts.

Sam was nowhere in sight when you slipped back into the motel room around twenty minutes later. The sound of the shower running let you know he’d decided to take advantage of the unoccupied bathroom while it lasted.

You set the box of doughnuts and the cardboard cup holder full of questionable coffees near the TV on the little table. Dean stirred as you straightened and turned to look at him.

His bed head was about the cutest damn thing you’d ever seen. He half sat up, rubbing his eyes with the back of a hand and blinking a few times before his gaze settled on you.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” you said, coming to sit on the edge of the bed near him.

“God, you would be all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this morning,” he said, voice gruff with sleep. “Already showered and everything?” He glanced toward the bathroom and then over to the empty bed where Sam had slept.

“You’re the only one who hasn’t,” you said to him, smiling.

Dean sat up the rest of the way, running his hand through his messy hair, which did nothing to tame it. “Here, I brought you something.” You got to your feet and retrieved a cup of coffee and the doughnuts. He took the coffee when you offered it, eyes growing wide in pleasant surprise. You sat the doughnuts on the bed next to him. “Call it a peace offering.”

“Sweetheart, you’ve got nothing to make peace for,” Dean said, reaching over to open the box of doughnuts and examine the contents.

You smiled. “Note to self: doughnuts seem to be an acceptable olive branch.”

Dean chuckled a little, selecting an old-fashioned glazed from the top and taking a bite. You slipped your boots off and retrieved your own cup of coffee, sitting next to him so you could lean back against the headboard this time.

“I had the weirdest dream,” Dean said as you bit into a doughnut.

You chewed and swallowed before saying, “Oh yeah? What about?”

“Promise not to get all girly on me and freak out when I tell you?”

“Why the hell would you ask me that?” you said with a laugh, reaching for your coffee cup on the nightstand. “If it was tentacle porn, I really don’t need to know. I'm fine with this being a relationship where we don’t tell each other everything. Really, it’s fine.”

You were grinning as you turned your head to look at him, certain he was teasing. But the look on his face made it clear he wasn’t going to tell you until you promised. “God, you’re serious,” you breathed, trying to wipe the smile from your face. “Okay, I promise not to freak out.” You drew an x pattern across your chest with a finger.

“You mean that? You don’t sound like you mean that,” Dean urged, deadpan.

“No, of course I do. I’m just - I’m having a hard time taking this conversation seriously.” You smiled apologetically and leaned in to give him a quick kiss, tasting old-fashioned glazed icing on his lips. “I’m all ears,” you prompted. Dean sighed, looking like he seriously regretted even bringing it up. “Well? What was it already? Spit it out, Winchester.”

“It was a woman,” he admitted.

And now you knew why he’d been afraid the dream might upset you. You took care to keep your expression neutral so he wouldn’t get gunshy and stop talking, because for some reason he really felt the need to share this with you, whatever it was.

“She had these eyes - they were almost violet.”

“Purple eyes, huh?” you said, taking another bite of your doughnut and watching him, waiting for him to elaborate.

“Yeah, like, you’d have to have contacts to get eyes that color. People don’t just have purple eyes. It’s weird, right?” he said, his voice rising in volume as he went.

“Was she hot?” you asked with a shit-eating grin, unable to help yourself.

“You promised,” he reminded you, pointing a finger in your direction.

“Not jealous, or upset,” you clarified with a chuckle. “Just curious.”

“She was pretty, I guess,” he admitted. “Didn’t hold a candle to you, sweetheart. No. I’m convinced no other woman in the world could look just as sexy in one of my flannel shirts as she does in a white doctor’s coat. You’ve got the monopoly in that area.”

“That was the right answer,” you said with a grin. “So what exactly happened in this dream?”

“Well … ” He sighed again, looking like he was trying to decide how to explain. “I don’t remember everything. It started slipping away the moment I woke up. But this woman, she just - she was sort of obsessed with my heart.”

You frowned slightly, shrugging. “How so?”

“Well, she kept trying to put her hand to my chest.”

“All the girls will tell you they want to know your heart, but really I think she just wanted you for your body,” you said to him, cracking a smile.

But he wasn’t laughing. “I’m serious. It was weird. I can't stop thinking about it.”

“Why has this got you so worked up?” you asked him, shifting your weight a little to see him better.

“Hell, I don’t know. It just does,” he huffed.

And then it hit you, clear as day. You put your coffee back down on the nightstand, setting what was left of your doughnut on top of the lid. Then you slid over to sit in front of Dean. You raised your palm to rest on his chest over his heart where you could feel it beating. “Like this?” you asked.

Dean’s hard expression softened a bit at your touch. “Yeah.”

“This is something you and I do,” you said softly. “It’s kind of our thing, isn’t it?” A smile tugged at the corner of Dean’s mouth then, and you knew you were on the right track. “I imagine that would feel strange and invasive having another woman try to do this.”

Dean looked into your eyes and he nodded ever so slightly, bringing his hand up to cover yours. “You’re the only woman I let get close enough to touch my heart like this.”

“You know,” you said, “I had a roommate in college who was obsessed with dream diaries and translating the symbolism in dreams. Do you know what she would say about this dream of yours?”

“Hmmm?”

“She would suggest that dreaming about your heart is symbolic of love, courage, romance, and even trust. She might also say that you’re currently trying to process certain emotions, and that dreaming about your heart is a form of encouragement moving forward.”

“That doesn’t sound so terrible,” Dean admitted. “What about the purple eyes?”

You smiled and said, “If I remember right, the color purple is symbolic of devotion, and even healing.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” you asserted. “I think it's entirely likely your subconscious is trying to remind you how completely devoted you are to your sexy doctor girlfriend who has healed you in ways you never knew you needed.”

You couldn't even keep a straight face as you delivered the line to him, and Dean gave you a disbelieving grin when you cracked up.

“Good lord, woman,” Dean said. “Think maybe this roommate of yours was smoking some wicked ganja?”

“I'm sorry,” you said, trying to compose yourself again. “You just - you walked right into that. I couldn't resist.”

“Last time I let you interpret my dreams,” he said half-heartedly with a chuckle.

But he felt better. You could tell that much just by looking at him. And you’d been right about the intimate gesture of another woman touching his chest bothering him because, well, she wasn't you. You couldn't help but smile at that as you took another sip of your terrible coffee.

Sam walked out of the bathroom a moment later with a towel wrapped around his waist.

He shook his head, smiling when he saw the two of you scarfing doughnuts and sipping coffee in bed.

“Breakfast of champions,” you said, smiling up at him and licking white powder from your lips.

“You heard the doctor,” Dean added. “Eat up. We got work to do.”

“You’re going to create a monster,” Sam said to you, raising an eyebrow in jest. “You know that, right?”

“Pick your battles, Brawny Man,” you replied. “Besides, I brought you some, too.”

Sam followed your pointed finger to the cup of of coffee that was waiting for him on the table. He gave you a little nod of thanks and picked it up, taking a sip and somehow managing not to grimace at the taste.

“Best I could do without the car keys,” you told him, which only made Sam shrug in agreement.

“Speaking of work to do, how do you two want to tackle things this morning? Just thought I’d ask before I get dressed” Sam said.

“We need copies of the police reports,” Dean answered.

“And whatever information we can drag up on the young man who went missing two nights back,” you added.

“Might not be related,” Sam offered.

“True,” you said. “But can’t rule that out until we know for sure.”

“All right then, FBI getup it is.” Sam set his coffee down and went to retrieve his duffel.

You bit back a smile at the thought of finally using your FBI clothes and fake badge Dean had made you.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suited up in your FBI garb, you make a visit to the police station and later to the morgue.

You squeaked in surprise when Dean pinched your ass, apparently enjoying the charcoal grey pencil skirt you wore as part of your FBI getup.

“Hands to yourself, Winchester,” you chided, trying not to smile as the three of you walked toward the front door of the local police department.

“I can’t help it, sweetheart,” Dean said, groaning a little. “You know, if you’d just let us play FBI agent at home before we came out on a case I could have maybe gotten it out of my-”

“Enough,” Sam interrupted. “I really don’t want to hear about you two role-playing. Period.” He reached the door first and held it open for you.

“Thank you,” you said as you walked inside, giving Sam an apologetic smile.

You didn’t see the exchange behind you, but you did hear Dean’s “What? Come on, man. Can you blame me?” to which Sam didn’t dignify his comment with a response.

If you’d been nervous at all about playing FBI agent, those butterflies disappeared the moment the deputy that greeted you at the front desk didn’t question your badges when you revealed them. The good news was that it took less than half an hour to walk out of the police department with copies of the police reports, including photos taken at the cemetery right after the disturbances to the remains had been discovered and reported.

The weird news was that the corpses at the cemetery had been completely stripped of any flesh and soft tissue, leaving only the skeletal remains behind. You weren't sure what to make of that at all.

The bad news? The young man reported missing two nights before had been found dead last night prior to your arrival in town. You’d secured copies of the report from the scene where his body was discovered as well, with the promise that the local authorities would call you when and if they got more information.

Once back in the Impala it was decided that you were best suited to examine the body at the Coroner’s office. Sam was itching to interview the family of the young man, and when Dean offered to tag along with you, you honestly couldn’t tell if he was nervous about sending you off on your own, or if he just genuinely liked ‘watching you work,” as he put it. Either way, you couldn’t argue that having him along would make it easier for you to focus, knowing he’d be there to back up your story should anyone question your credentials.

Dr. Benjamin Warner, the medical examiner, was a tall, lanky man in his sixties, sporting a mustache only rivaled by Tom Selleck’s. He wasn't overly friendly when you and Dean introduced yourselves and mentioned your interest in the case. He did warm up upon mention of your background in emergency medicine, however, which was just as you’d hoped. You still had to use your alias that matched your fake badge, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t give your alias a medical background. It was the only thing that made sense in the moment if you wanted to get the answers you needed.

“How did you get wrapped up in FBI matters?” Dr, Warner asked, his gaze drilling into you as he awaited your response.

“I’m a consultant. Just helping out a friend on this one,” you tried, gesturing to Dean with a nod.

Dean’s expression remained neutral, but he didn’t otherwise add to your story. It was just as well. Warner seemed to buy it.

“I haven't completed the report, I'm afraid,” he said. “In fact, I’m still conducting my examination, so if that's what you're after you'll have to wai-”

“I'd love to be of assistance while you finish the exam,” you offered. “If you wouldn't mind an extra set of hands, that is.” You suspected he was overworked and underpaid, and with the recent turmoil in the county, you hoped he’d have a hard time turning down qualified help.

Dr. Warner eyed you contemplatively for a beat, and you knew you had him when he looked to Dean and said, “I think l like her.”

You gave him a friendly smile and followed when he waived you on back, glancing over your shoulder at Dean who gave you a little wink and fell into step behind you.

“Suit up, both of you” Warner said, gesturing for you toward the apron and gloves as he put on his own. “And you, Agent Seger,” he added for Dean's benefit. “Well, just don't touch anything.”

You bit back a smile at the full-on bitch face Dean displayed behind Warner’s back.

“I’ve already conducted a thorough external examination and x-rayed and photographed everything,” Warner said, in an attempt to get you up to speed as quickly as possible.  
You moved to stand across from Warner on the other side of the exam table where the body lay. At a glance you could see he’d already made the Y-incision from the shoulders to the groin prior to your arrival. “As you can see there is moderate to severe ecchymosis over the breastbone.”

“Bruising,” you translated for Dean who nodded as he stepped up close enough to observe.

“There is also a transverse fracture of the sternum. I’m ready to continue with the internal exam,” Davis said as he grabbed his dictaphone with a gloved hand and turned it on, setting it aside nearby to record his findings during the exam.

Dean’s expression was neutral, lending to the fact that he’d seen more than a few dead bodies in his day, as he watched you hand Warner the bone saw. Warner proceeded to make the necessary cuts to the ribs until the whole of the rib cage and the sternum could be lifted out as one solid piece. Once the skeletal structure was removed, the internal organs in the chest cavity were easily visible and accessible.

Warner asked you pass him the empty syringe on the equipment tray nearby and you did as he asked, watching as he drew a blood sample directly from the heart.

“So, Doctor,” Dean said as he watched. “Sheriff mentioned something about the cause of death presenting like a heart attack.”

“Too soon to know. That's why I'm performing the autopsy.”

“Healthy young guys don't just drop dead from heart attacks,” Dean added. “Something else has to be going on here.”

“I agree that would be most unusual, although not impossible. And people aren't always as healthy as they seem,” Warner said.

“Do you have any of his medical records yet?” you asked.

“Green file folder over there,” Warner gestured with a wave toward the rolling cart across the room. “I haven't combed through them yet myself.”

Dean moved to retrieve the file, opening it up to glance at the contents while you assisted Warner by handing him the rib spreader.

“Corey Baker, age twenty-three,” Dean read aloud, summarizing as he went. “No history of chronic illness, not a smoker, occasional drinker - aren't we all?” he added, pacing a little at the back of the room as he flipped through the pages. “Had his most recent yearly physical with his primary care doc just two months back. How many twenty-somethings actually have check ups nowadays?” He muttered to himself for a moment as her continued to scan the pages. “I don't know, if his history carries any weight I'd say he was the picture of health.”

“And yet here we are,” Warner said, his tone suggesting slight irritation.

You accepted the internal organs one at a time as Warner removed them from the abdominal and chest cavities. You inspected each one visually before placing them on the scale nearby as Warner read the weights out loud for the record. You then moved them to the appropriately labored containers nearby.

Warner inspected the heart while intact, stating aloud the normal appearance of the tissues for his recording before he removed it. When he'd finishing looking over the heart muscle, he handed it to you to inspect it as well. “Further evaluation is required, of course, but upon initial inspection the heart appears anatomically unremarkable.”

And while he was right about there not being any obvious gross deformities to speak of, you did note something he hadn’t mentioned. “It’ll be interesting to see what you find when you dissect the heart,” you thought out loud as you turned the organ over in your hands to get a closer look.

“What do you see?” Warner asked, pausing with his scalpel in mid air.

“Myocardial contusion,” you answered, angling your hands to show him better. “It’s consistent with the bruising we saw on the surface of the chest.”

Warner squinted as he took another look, nodding. “You’re quite right. There appears o be evidence of contusion on the surface of the posterior atrioventricular junction.” He glanced up at you and added, “Doctor, with your attention to detail and your knack for forensics, you'd make a fine medical examiner, should you ever need a change of scenery.”

Dean didn't miss Warner’s wary glance in his direction at that statement, and he furrowed his brow. You were certain he was about to voice his opinion on being referred to as the ‘scenery’, but you jumped in before he could.

“You're too kind, Dr. Warner,” you said with a smile. “But thank you. I'll keep that in mind should I ever need a change in pace.”

“You do that,” Warner replied. “And please, call me Ben.”

You watched Dean roll his eyes over Warner’s shoulder, mouthing to you, “Ben? _Really?_ ”

“So bruising on the chest and the heart,” you said, trying to get the conversation back on track. “Suggestive of what? Blunt force trauma?”

“Most likely,” Warner agreed. “Damage done in motor vehicle accidents commonly presents in this manner, especially when the chest collides with the steering column.

“Not a car accident,” Dean said, his voice trailing off at the end of the statement in thought.

“Do we know that for sure?” Warner asked, raising an eyebrow and gazing at you and Dean in turn. Warner was working on sorting through Corey Baker’s stomach contents then, and you mostly watched as he did so, unsure how to be of help with that particular task.

“Corey’s pickup truck was parked on the side of the road down on main street the entire time he was missing. Police are combing through it, but if he was in an accident and someone moved his body, it wasn’t in his own truck.”

“A call to the hospital to see if anyone has come in seeking treatment that would correlate with a car crash isn’t a bad idea,” you said to Dean.

He nodded. “We’ll do that.” He closed the file folder and shifted his weight a little, thinking out loud. “The vacant house that’s on the market where Corey’s body was found is only ten blocks from his family’s home.”

“Any idea on the window of death yet?” Dean asked.

“I can give you a decent estimation based solely on what I saw at the scene last night when I arrived during the investigation,” Warner offered. “For an official window of death I’ll need to finish my exam and compile the information to review.”

Dean nodded. “I’ll take whatever you can give me now.”

“Going strictly off of body temperature, the lack of blood pooling, the state of the eyes, and rigor mortis, I’d say he passed sometime between 6:30 and 7:30 pm last evening.”

“And the realtor and the lucky young couple who were viewing the home and happened upon the body did so at … ” Dean opened the file again to find the information. “ … 7:30 pm.” And then the pensive look on Dean’s face made you turn your head to watch him more closely.

You recognized that look. It was the one he always got when a light bulb was going off in his mind. “What is it?” you pressed.

“What about CPR?” Dean said, stepping closer to you. “Dr. Warner, you said the kid’s sternum was broken, and there’s bruising in all the right places. What if someone did CPR and tried to save Corey after his heart stopped?”

You made a mental note to tell Dean how brilliantly sexy he was in that moment when the two of you next got some alone time. “Resuscitation attempts could absolutely cause the kind of damage to the chest and heart muscle we’re seeing here,” you confirmed.

Dr. Warner took a step away from the body to examine the sternum again closely where the rib cage sat on the rolling cart, conceding after a moment. “I have to say I agree. We can’t rule out the possibility that someone tried to save Mr. Baker.”

“You know what that means?” Dean said to you.

And you could see it there, swimming in his eyes. If someone had indeed tried to resuscitate Corey, either the monster had a conscious, or a monster hadn’t done this to Corey Baker at all, which would mean his death may not be related to your case.

You couldn’t voice all of that out loud, but knew Dean knew all of it just as certain as you did. So you said the only thing you could that was still true and answered the question Dean had left hanging in the air. “We might just have a witness.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Dean meet up with Sam for lunch and to try and piece together the information you've all gathered about the case. When it becomes clear Dean isn't the only one in town dreaming about a purple-eyed woman, you suddenly realize you have more questions than answers.

The little cafe on the north end of main street was cozy and clean. To Dean’s great relief, there was fresh strawberry rhubarb pie in the desert display near the register when the three of you walked in.

You and Dean had spent enough time at the office of the medical examiner that Sam had managed to interview not only Corey Baker’s family, but the families of the two recently deceased whose corpses some nasty creature had snacked on. You had also put in a call to the local hospital to confirm that no patients had visited the emergency department seeking care for any injuries that were suspect of a motor vehicle accident.

“If someone was there trying to save Corey, why weren’t they there when the real estate agent arrived?” Sam asked after Dean explained his theory about someone trying to resuscitate Corey Baker after he’d died.

“Maybe they were. Could have been spooked,” Dean answered, popping a french fry into his mouth.

“Why wouldn’t they call 911? If they were determined enough to attempt CPR, why would they just leave him and take off like that?” Sam puzzled out loud before thanking the middle-aged waitress as she brought him a refill of water with a slice of lemon.

“Maybe they had some part in what happened to Corey, and they were scared of the consequences?” you offered. It was a haphazard guess, at best. “But if that’s the case, Corey’s death isn’t likely related to whatever is desecrating the corpses.”

“Still don’t know for sure. Every time we get an answer, five more questions pop up,” Dean added. “What about you?” he asked Sam. “Did you come up with anything talking with the families?”

Sam cocked his head a little, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Well, there’s the obvious similarities. Both were young men in their twenties. Both attended the same high school, although they weren’t in the same graduating class. One was two years older than the other. Both stuck around after graduation to work in their family’s respective business. One as a mechanic in his uncle’s shop. One going through the process of becoming a licensed insurance agent to partner with his father.”

“They both led apple-pie lives, and now they’re both dead,” you said slowly.

“And that’s where the similarities end,” Sam said.

“Let’s start with insurance guy,” Dean said. “How did he die?”

“Commotio cordis,” Sam began.

Dean frowned. “Come again?”

“Commotio cordis,” you repeated slowly, moving your gaze from Sam over to Dean as you explained. “It’s a disruption of the heart’s rhythm caused by blunt force during the 15 millisecond gap in between heartbeats. It’s pretty rare, as the force has to hit the area just above the heart during exactly the right time with the right amount of energy, but when it does happen it’s usually fatal.”

“So - so blunt force trauma stopped his heart?” Dean pressed. “Was he attacked?”

“Not exactly,” Sam said. “He had just started coaching a little league team in town that his younger brother was playing on. He took a line drive to the chest when the assistant coach was trying to hit a pop fly.”

“And it stopped his heart?” Dean asked, his expression suggesting he may never look at a baseball the same way ever again.

“Commotio cordis sends the heart into an abnormal rhythm,” you added. “If not corrected, it leads to heart failure..”

“Death by baseball,” Dean said slowly. “That is just wrong on so many levels.” He took a drink of his soda and swallowed, sighing. “What about the mechanic?”

“Justin,” Sam began. “Died of multi-organ failure following an MVA five miles outside of town. There was a terrible rain storm that night and he ended up in the wrong lane. The driver in the other car was hospitalized overnight with a couple of fractures and a mild concussion but she survived. Justin wound up on a ventilator and was pronounced brain dead before his family decided to take him off the machines and let him go.”

“So, two otherwise healthy young men who died suddenly and tragically,” you summarized. “Neither of them went missing before they died.”

Sam did a little one-shouldered shrug.

“They did have one other thing in common,” you added. “Out of the last six deaths on record in the county, the two graves that were desecrated belonged to the only two who weren’t either cremated or buried outside of the county due to loved one’s wishes.”

“Huh,” Sam said, brushing his hair out of his eyes and leaning back in the booth like he was trying to stretch his back. “Well, Corey’s family has no idea what might have happened to him. As far as they know he didn’t have any new friends, a new girlfriend, wasn’t in any sort of trouble or anything out of the ordinary that might lead to him going missing and winding up dead.”

“If it wasn’t for the fact that the remains in both of those graves had all of the flesh stripped from the bones, I’d be starting to wonder if this was our kind of thing at all,” you added.

“We’re going to have to come at the all-you-can-eat graveyard buffet mystery from another angle and play it like Corey’s death is unrelated for now,” Dean said. “If we find out differently as we go, we take it from there.”

You shrugged in agreement. You didn’t see that you had much of a choice. “I’m sensing another night spent at the cemetery tonight?”

Dean groaned. “You know you live a glamorous, messed up life when your plans for the evening involve waiting around for something to desecrate a grave.”

“Don’t act like you don’t love it,” you said to him, elbowing him lightly in the ribs before taking a bite of your sandwich.

But Dean’s gaze was suddenly faraway, and he raised a hand to quiet you and Sam both, making you blink at him in confusion and glance around the cafe suspiciously.

“What?” Sam whispered. “What are you-”

“Quiet,” Dean said softly. “Just….” But he didn’t finish his statement, crooking his head a little to the left.

You realized he was trying to listen in on the conversation between a couple of young guys two booths away. The booth between you was empty, which meant if you were quiet you could actually hear everything they were saying. You ate the last bite of your sandwich and listened while you chewed, shrugging a little when Sam gave you a confused glance.

“I don’t know man,” one of the two guys was saying. “A chick with purple eyes? Sounds hot to me.”

“It probably would have been,” the other responded. “If it hadn’t been so … I don’t know … creepy.”

Your eyes snapped up to look at Dean. God, no wonder the conversation had caught his attention. He was still listening intently, but raised his eyebrows to acknowledge your gaze.

“Well, did you get it on? In the dream?”

“I told you it was weird. She wasn’t acting normal.”

“It’s a dream. Who cares if she’s weird? Missed opportunity if you ask me. And you know what this means?” the first guy continued.

“What?”

“You seriously need to get laid. In real life. That’s what.”

“Haha. You’re a real dick, you know that?”

But the first guy was chuckling now, and he changed the conversation topic by saying, “I’m serious. Maybe tomorrow night when your parents leave town you could take Kylie back to your mom and dad’s place when her shift gets over. It’s nicer than your apartment. Classier.”

“You think taking a girl back to my parents’ house to get it on is classy?”

“Either that or spend some serious time cleaning up your apartment first. Kylie told my sister she likes you. I’m just saying….”

Dean changed a glance over at the booth before turning his gaze on you. “What would your college roommate say about that?” he asked.

“Something along the lines of ‘Holy shit’, I’m sure,” you replied.

“I’m lost,” Sam said, looking at you both like you were aliens.

“We'll tell you in the car,” Dean said, pulling out his wallet to drop cash on the table.

“You’re not going to have desert?” Sam said, brow furrowing.

“Just lost my appetite,” Dean insisted as he got to his feet and you slid over in the booth to do the same.

Sam sighed and followed suit, taking a big gulp of his lemon water before he stood. The three of you made your way to the Impala and got inside.

“You want to tell me what that was about?” Sam asked as soon as the doors were all closed.

“I had the same freaking dream about the lady with the - the purple eyes,” Dean admitted.

Sam blinked at him. “Wait, you’re saying you had the same weird dream as the guy in the cafe?”

Dean tapped the steering wheel with his thumb anxiously. “That's what I'm saying.”

“That - that doesn't ...” Sam’s voice trailed off as he looked to you for confirmation, apparently at a loss for words.

“I'm not saying it makes sense, Sam,” Dean added gruffly.

“Okay,” Sam said. “ Do we think this might be related to our case?”

“I don't know what the hell to think,” Dean said with a sigh.

“Too weird not to be related,” you said.

“So, what exactly do we do with this information?” Sam wondered out loud.

“We follow the guy,” Dean stated simply. “Make sure he’s safe.”

“From his dreams?” Sam asked, raising a doubtful eyebrow.

“From whatever is giving him the dreams,” Dean clarified.

“You’re having dreams,” you told Dean. “Nothing’s come after you.”

“Not yet,” he said, holding up a finger. “ But I’ve only been having the dreams since we got to town. This kid said he’s been dreaming about this woman for over a week. If something’s coming after us, I’d say he’s probably a little higher up on the priority list.”

“We can’t assume he’s safe,” you agreed. “And technically we don’t need to be to the cemetery until right before dark. I guess we might as well trail him for a bit until then.”

Sam shrugged in agreement and you settled in to watch the cafe until the young man came out.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another night in the cemetery does nothing to answer the questions you're compiling about the case. When Dean has another dream about the purple-eyed woman, it's clear he's more shaken than he's letting on.

You were parked down the street from a house where just moments before the young guy from the diner had gone inside. His mention of a dream about a purple-eyed woman had prompted you all to follow him to investigate. He’d left the diner alone, parting ways with his friend in the parking lot before driving back to this house, which you could only assume he lived in.

“Why don’t we just go talk to him?” you said to Sam and Dean as the three of you sat in the car.

“Either that or sit out here on the street all evening waiting to see if your dream-twin does anything interesting,” Sam agreed.

Dean glared at Sam briefly and then took the keys from the ignition. “What’s our angle?”

“He’s got to be around the same age as Justin and Christopher. Let’s see if he knew them,” you answered as you opened the car door and straightened your skirt, making sure you looked presentable. The three of you knocked on doors and Daniel let you in after you flashed your badges and mentioned you had some questions about Justin and Christopher.

But Daniel - Dean’s dream-twin, as Sam had referred to him - not only failed provide any insights about the weird things going on around town, but denied anything out of the ordinary happening in his own life. You weren’t all that surprised when he didn’t take the bait when Dean tried to ask if he’d experienced any strange occurrences recently, such as being followed by a stranger, feeling cold spots, or having odd dreams. Aside from the deer-in-the-headlights look he gave you all at Dean’s dream question, he denied anything strange at all.

You were basically back to square one as the three of you headed back to the motel to change out of your FBI clothes, take a nap and argue about which take-out to order before staking out the cemetery again at dark.

The lack of rain only managed to make the second night in the cemetery even less exciting than the first. The three of you joked about just how glamorous the hunting life could be as you drank coffee and took shifts walking the grounds all night to keep an eye out for anything suspicious you might miss from inside the car.

To add to the puzzle, you weren’t sure if the lack of activity at the cemetery since your arrival in town had more to do with the fact that the only two bodies to have been buried there in the last four months had already been ravaged before you got there, or because whatever was doing the ravaging knew hunters were in town.

To say the night was uneventful was a severe understatement, and you called first dibs on the shower at the motel when you dragged yourselves into the room just after daybreak the next morning to power nap before you started the day. You quickly scrubbed yourself clean and washed your hair, knowing Sam was waiting for his turn next. You were wearing only your towel and were about to gather up your dirty clothes when Dean took advantage of the situation and knocked on the bathroom door, saying, “Can I come in?”

“One sec,” you called out as you opened the door a crack for him, peering out to see him standing there expectantly.

Dean opened the door further, saying, “You done in here yet, sweetheart?” as he let himself inside.

“I - uh, I was just - well … ” But Dean brushed past you, stopping to kiss your damp hair before he pulled his shirt over his head and began stripping down with the door still open. “I’m not even dressed yet, Winchester,” you said with a disbelieving laugh.

“Real mature,” Sam called out from around the half wall that separated the bathroom space from the rest of the room. “There had better still be hot water when I get in there.”

Dean slid his jeans to his ankles and stepped out of them, grinning at you as he stood there in only his boxers and his socks.

“Sorry Sam,” you called out through the crack in the still-open door before you closed it. Dean just waggled his eyebrows at you as he removed his socks and dropped his shorts, stepping into the shower and leaving the curtain half-open. “Your brother’s going to kill us both if we torture him on hunts,” you said, biting back a smile as you leaned backward just far enough to glimpse Dean’s firm ass.

“He’ll be fine,” Dean replied as you turned your attention back to getting dressed.

“It’s bad enough he has to live with us, but now that I’m hunting he has to go everywhere with us. Take it easy on him.” You finished dressing in some shorts and a tank top and stepped out of the bathroom, closing the door behind you.

Sam was sitting at the table in the corner of the room near the window. He looked up from his phone when you walked in and dropped your duffel on the floor. “Tell me you at least flushed the toilet on him for me once he got in,” he said.

“I did not,” you admitted. “Although I did leave the door unlocked, so feel free.”

Sam chuckled but didn’t bother getting up.

By the time Dean joined you in the queen bed you were sharing you could barely keep your eyes open. You heard the shower turn on in the bathroom as Sam finally got his turn to clean up.

“Just an hour,” you told him as he slid into the covers next to you. “I just need-” you yawned and slid closer to him in the bed. “I just need an hour of sleep. Then I’ll be good.”

“Go ahead and close your eyes, Sweetheart,” Dean said as he draped an arm over your hip.

“I’m using all of the hot water tonight, jerk,” Sam called from the bathroom.

A chuckle rumbled in Dean’s chest. You were still feeling bad for Sam and trying to decide how to make it up to him when sleep pulled you under.

When you awoke two hours later you could hear Dean’s heart beating in your ear and feel the soft rocking motion of his deep breathing. You didn’t open your eyes, rather choosing to enjoy the calm, quiet for just a moment longer. Sam’s soft snores behind you confirmed he was still fast asleep in the other bed.

 _God, it had been a long night at the cemetery, mostly because you’d struck out._ You were torn between wishing whatever creature had fed off the bodies of the deceased would strike again and being grateful no one had gotten hurt.

Dean mumbled in his sleep, and you wondered for a second if he was waking up. But he didn’t budge. When his breathing shifted a little, becoming slightly erratic, you sat up far enough to lean on your elbow and study his face. His brow furrowed slightly and you realized he might be dreaming.

“No,” he muttered. “What - what are you-”

“Hmm?” Sam asked from across the room, and you glanced his way to see him roll over and slowly sit up, rubbing his eyes. You focused on Dean again, watching his face as he frowned in his sleep. “Wh-” Sam started to speak but then seemed to realize his brother was dreaming. You shrugged at him as you glanced back to Dean, unsure if you should rouse him or not.

You touched his chest lightly with a hand, hoping he’d open his eyes at the simple gesture. His heart was beating a little faster than usual against your palm now.

“Dean?” you said softly. “Dean, honey? Wake up. You’re dreaming.” Dean woke with a start, wide eyes landing on your face. “Hey there, Winchester,” you said to him. “You were dreaming again.”

“Of course I was.” Dean rubbed his eyes with the back of a hand and rose to a sitting position.

“You good? Was it her again?” Sam asked, reaching over to turn on the lamp between the beds on the nightstand.

Dean ran his hand through his adorable bedhead hair and groaned like he was anything but good. “I’m gonna need coffee first.”

That was answer enough for you. “What do you say today we skip the gas station coffee and hit up that little cafe for … ” you glanced at the clock, “ … brunch?”

“Mmmm…. Talked me into it,” Dean agreed.

As nice as it would have been to wrap a comfy flannel layer over your tank top and pull on a pair of your favorite jeans, this hunt seemed to lean heavily toward FBI garb during the day, so the three of you donned your fancier clothes and drove over to the diner.

You were halfway through brunch when Sam decided Dean may be sufficiently caffeinated enough to broach the subject of his most recent dream. “Anything we should know about this last dream?” he asked casually.

Dean took a bite of bacon and chewed and swallowed before he met Sam’s gaze, saying, “No. Maybe…. Hell, I don’t know.”

“Do you remember much?” you asked.

“All of it,” Dean stated. “God, it’s like this purple-eyed psycho woman is in my brain….”

You didn’t like the sound of that. Not one bit.

“It was just more of the same, I guess,” he added. The little meaningful glance he threw your way confirmed the same things that had bothered him in the first dream had happened again. “Just lots of … I guess you’d call it coming onto me, for lack of a better phrase. But I got the sense she didn’t exactly want sex.” He raised an eyebrow at you, feigning insult and added, “Weird, I know,” in an attempt to lighten the mood.

You smiled and reached over to squeeze his arm. “She really is psycho.”

“So,” Sam clarified. “Coming onto you, but for …?”

“I don’t know, Sam,” Dean said in frustration. “If I knew, don’t you think I’d tell you?”

“Okay,” Sam said. “Yeah. Of course. Just wish we knew what it all meant. If it means anything at all.”

“You and me both, brother,” Dean said before he took another sip of his coffee.

After brunch you and Sam dropped Dean off at the local high school. He wanted the opportunity to review the school’s yearbooks for Justin and Christopher’s classes. You couldn’t help but wonder if he wasn’t hoping to find a photo of a girl who resembled the one plaguing his dreams, purple eyes or no.

You and Sam paid a visit to the Medical Examiner’s office to see if you could get your hands on a copy of the official report.

Dr. Warner wasn’t in the office just then, but his receptionist greeted you, remembering you from the day before. You introduced Sam and she held onto his hand a little longer than necessary when she shook it.

“He had a feeling you might be by today and asked me to give you this,” she said to you, but she held the manila envelope out for Sam to take, blushing a little as her fingers glanced along his in the exchange.

“Thank you,” Sam said to her, giving her a smile. The way she suddenly sat back in her chair made you wonder if his grin hadn’t made her weak in the knees.

“Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything at all,” she called out to you both as you headed for the exit again.

“That was easy,” Sam said as you made your way back out to the Impala. “Most of the time it takes a little more work to get them to hand over those reports.”

“Dr. Warner likes me,” you said casually. “Maybe not in the way his secretary likes you....”

Sam chuckled and shook his head at you. “God, she looks like she’s barely legal.”

“She’s definitely old enough,” you assured him. “I’d say mid twenties, at least. Just has a fresh face, is all. Besides, you could probably teach her some things.”

Sam crooked an eyebrow at you accusingly. “Are you trying to get rid of me tonight so you and my brother can have the motel room to yourself?”

You frowned at him. “I may or may not be,” you said vaguely. “Do you want me to give you an excuse to call her? I can definitely make things awkward enough that you’ll have to bail tonight if that’s what it takes.” Sam barked out a laugh at that. You grinned at him, shrugging. “Just sayin’, Brawny. Don’t say I didn’t offer.”

Sam shook his head, still smiling as he ducked into the driver’s seat. “You are so right for my brother it’s not even funny, you know that?”

“I did know, but thanks for recognizing.”

Dean was casually leaning up against the flagpole just outside of the high school when you pulled up to meet him.

“Any luck?” Sam asked Dean as he got out of the Impala so Dean could drive.

“The purple-eyed mystery woman isn’t an alumni of the school, if that’s what you’re getting at,” Dean said matter-of-factly, handing Sam a small stack of pages he’d gotten copied from the respective yearbooks. Sam got in in the backseat and began flipping through the pages. Dean glanced over to see you going through your own stack of papers in the passenger seat. “What does Warner's report say?” he asked.

“Official cause of death is cardiac contusion leading to cardiogenic shock and a fatal arrhythmia. Left untreated it would have killed Corey.”

“Exactly like you said during the autopsy,” Dean said. “Not the same thing as a heart attack though.”

“So the question now is what in the hell caused the bruising on his heart,” Sam thought out loud.

“And until we know that, we won’t know if Corey’s death is related to our case or not,” you added.

“Do we really think he was in an accident?” Dean asked.

“The medical examiner didn’t report any signs that the body had been moved in his documentation,” you answered as you continued scanning the pages.

“What else could cause this type of bruising on someone’s heart?” Sam wondered.

“If it’s not related to a car crash, or a fall, or a high impact injury of some kind ...” you said slowly, “ ... I honestly can’t imagine.”


	6. Chapter 6

 

Dinner found you at the local cafe again. Thankfully, although the town was lacking in restaurant options, the cafe had decent food. You’d changed back into your street clothes before heading to the diner, knowing you’d most likely be spending a third night at the cemetery.

 

You were just finishing up your meal when a guy who appeared to be in his early twenties walked into the cafe, did a quick look around, and made a beeline toward your booth.

“Are you the agents who are in town investigating the grave disturbances?” he asked as he neared your table. You recognized him. He’d been the one sitting in the booth yesterday with Daniel while Daniel divulged information about the purple-eyed woman he’d been dreaming out. From the look on Dean’s face he recognized him, too.

“Uh, yeah,” Sam said in answer, sitting a little straighter on the bench seat next to you. “That’s us.”

“Is there something you’d like to share with us?” you asked.

“Scoot over,” the guy said to Dean, gesturing with a hand for him to make room on the bench. Dean hesitated and then begrudgingly slid toward the window so the guy could sit down. “I can’t go to the police,” he said in hushed tones once he sat.

“About what?” Dean asked.

“My friend Daniel. I think something’s happened to him. He was supposed to meet me, well, okay, not me - but he was supposed to meet my sister’s friend at the movie tonight and he didn’t show.”

“Hey, hey. Slow down,” Sam told him. “What’s your name?

He took a deep breath and answered, “Shawn.”

“Shawn. Okay,” Sam began. “Not showing up for a date doesn’t necessarily constitute an emergency. What makes you think something is wrong?”

“He could just have cold feet,” Dean added. “Is your sister’s friend hot? He probably choked.”

 

You gave Dean a look that made him shrug and dip another french fry in ketchup before popping it into his mouth.

“He wouldn’t. He likes her,” Shawn answered. “And he really needed to get out. He’s had a bit of a weird week. You guys talked to him yesterday, right? About the weird stuff going on at the cemetery at Justin and Chris’s graves?”

“We did talk to him yesterday,” you answered. “He told us he didn’t know anything about what’s been happening in town.”

“None of us do,” Shawn added.

“Have you been to his place to check on him?” Sam asked.

“Dude, I tried. The apartment is empty, but the lights are on at his parent’s home and his car is in the drive.”

“So he’s visiting his parents?” you said, hoping for clarification.

“They’re out of town. The house should be empty. I tried knocking but no one answered. I swear I could see shadows through the curtains in one of the rooms.”

“Again, not exactly an emergency,” Dean muttered. “He could have just hooked up with some other chick. I wouldn’t answer the door either if I was getting it on in my parents house and my buddy came creeping around knocking and peeking in windows.”

“I’m telling you, something’s wrong,” Shawn insisted. “He’s shy. He’s not just going to hook up with some stranger. And he just stood up the girl who likes him. It’s not right. Something’s up.”

“What did you mean when you said you couldn’t go to the local cops?” you asked.

“I’m not exactly on the best of terms with the sheriff. I dated his daughter for a year. We broke up last week. It was messy. I think he’d just as soon toss me in a cell and let me rot than help me.” Shawn watched the three of you exchange doubtful glances. “Please,” he begged. “Just go check it out. Weird stuff is going on in town, and I can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. He’s my boy. He’d do it for me. I don’t know who else to ask for help.”

“All right,” Sam agreed. “We’ll stop by the place and make sure he’s okay.”

“Thank you,” Shawn said.

Sam slid a pen and a napkin across the table and Shawn wrote down the address on it, along with his contact information so you could reach him if necessary.

There was a light breeze blowing when you stepped out of the car where Dean had parked it on the side of the road. The street was quiet except for the soft sound of music coming from an open garage a few houses down where someone was most likely working on a car and taking advantage of the fresh air from the breeze at the same time.

Armed with your usual carry handguns and knives, the three of you approached the house Daniel's parents owned.

 

There were lights on in the west end of the house coming from two windows, but the blinds made it impossible to glimpse anything or anyone inside. The bay window not far from the front door had curtains, but there was a slight gap between the set.

Dean held up a hand, signaling you and Sam to hold off on knocking while he took a peek. He stepped behind the neatly trimmed shrubs, side stepping against the bricks as he made his way to the gap in the curtains. The way his jaw went slack in the porch lighting, you could tell he was seeing something that had caught his attention. You watched with bated breath as he shifted his weight, trying to peer in at a slightly different angle.

“Holy shit,” he said softly.

“What is it?” Sam demanded in hushed tones.

“It's her….” Dean acted like tearing his eyes away from the scene in front of him was particularly difficult as he turned to glance at you and Sam. “It's the dream lady. Purple eyes.”

“You’re kidding,” you whispered, more as an expression of surprise than anything.

“I can’t see her eyes from here, but I’m telling you. That’s her.”

“Is Daniel inside?” Sam asked.

“I think that's safe to assume,” Dean said softly. “She's clearly talking to someone, but I can't see who it is.” Dean gave a definitive nod to no one in particular and turned his head to look at you and Sam. “All right,” he whispered. “Here’s how this is going down.” He glanced back at the window again, just to make sure the scene inside hadn’t changed before he continued. “I’m going to ring the bell, but you two are going to watch from the bushes in the corner of the yard. I’m going to try to talk my way inside to see what’s-”

“No,” you protested as adamantly as you could manage without raising your voice. “She’s in your dreams - potentially in your head. That’s crazy.”

“You didn’t let me finish,” he said with an air of added patience that meant he was really trying. “If I’m not back in two minutes. Two minutes,” he repeated for emphasis, “You guys come in after me.”

“Two minutes is-” Sam began before Dean cut him off.

“It’s just enough time for me to evaluate how dangerous the situation is,” Dean said. “Not long enough that I can’t manage by myself, whatever might be going on.”

“I don’t like it,” you whispered.

“You’ll get used to that, sweetheart,” he added. In complete contradiction with how you wanted to be upset with him just then, he gave you an adorable half grin that melted your heart and prompted you to shut your mouth.

“Come on,” Dean urged. “Two minutes. Go.”

 

Sam bumped your shoulder with his arm, urging you to follow him back toward the front corner of the yard.

You kept your internal mumbling to yourself as you and Sam took cover behind the Oleanders near the fence.

Dean glanced in your direction just long enough to know you were both out of sight before he reached up a hand to knock on the door three times in quick succession. You were hyper-aware of your heartbeat against your rib cage as you watched in anticipation. It was only a moment before the door swung open. You cursed under your breath when you realized you and Sam couldn’t get a visual on whoever had answered the door. They didn’t come forward far enough to see, and Dean flashed his FBI badge and asked for Daniel, requesting permission to come inside.

Your heart skipped a beat when he took a step over the threshold and disappeared inside before the door closed again.

Sam glanced at his watch. You barely blinked as the ticking seconds felt like hours, unable to peel your eyes away from the doorway. It was torturous. As much as not being on the hunts with the boys had been hard, and as many nights as you’d worried and lost sleep while they’d been off doing this kind of thing, this was worse. So much worse. Something was desecrating corpses, tearing the flesh from the bones, and something had killed at least one man. Whether those somethings were related or not, Dean had just gone into a house alone with a woman he’d been seeing in his dreams, a woman who had freaked him out even in his sleep. And you were stuck outside waiting, hoping he’d step back out that door and let you and Sam know what was happening.

Your heart was pounding furiously by the time Sam announced time was up.

“I’m going in,” you said, jumping to your feet.

Sam didn’t argue, not that you’d expected him to. “I’ll go around back and find a way in,” he added. “Maybe one of us will get a jump on the situation.”

You pulled your handgun from the holster in the back of your jeans and made a beeline for the front porch, nodding when Sam quietly called out to you to be careful.

Gun in hand, you approached the door, standing out of sight to the side like Sam had taught you and trying the doorknob quietly. It was unlocked. You turned it with one twist of your wrist, throwing the door open a couple of feet as you brought your gun close to your body and crossed the threshold at an angle, scanning with your eyes as you moved.

 

But you hadn’t made it more than five feet inside the home’s parlor before you felt a dizzying heaviness settle over you that had you murmuring Dean’s name in desperation as your knees gave out. You fell to the carpet and slipped into unconsciousness.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having gone in to Daniel's house after Dean, you finally return to consciousness only to feel helpless at the scene playing out before you.

It was as if your head was full of cobwebs. You fought against the drowsiness that threatened to pull you under again just as you’d begun to surface. You forced your eyes open, blinking until your surroundings came into focus.

To your absolute terror, you found yourself bound to a chair, hands wrenched behind your back where roped held your wrists tight together. Your ankles were also secured to the chair legs with rope. You weren’t sure how you’d gotten here. You didn’t recall what could have led to this moment.

Dean was ten feet in front of you lying on his back on the wooden floor, eyes closed, unmoving.

No, no, no…. Your panic-ridden mind raced to the worst possible scenario, fearing he might be dead. But then you saw the gentle up and down motion of his chest with a start that had you biting back a strangled cry for joy.

He was alive.

A woman stood over him, her back turned to you, and you didn’t have see her face to know with certainty that her eyes would be a shade of violet if you could see them.

And just like that your last memory came flooding back to you like a tidal wave.

You’d gone inside the house after Dean, and you’d fallen victim to a supernatural force of some kind that had rendered you instantly unconscious upon just having crossed the threshold to the home.

She’d done this to you, you realized.

Whatever she’d done must also be responsible for the pounding in your head that made it hard to focus. But you had to focus. You were in trouble.

Dean was in trouble….

Only then did you get your wits about you enough to lift your head and scan your surroundings.The creature in a woman’s form was just standing there, hovering over Dean like a statue. You refrained from struggling against the ropes, not wanting to draw her attention to the fact that you were awake.

Daniel, the man you’d come here in search of at the request of his friend, was also bound to a chair just across the room. He was conscious, but a gag in his mouth prevented him from speaking. His wild eyes met yours. You could see the desperation and hopeless in them. Whatever the purple-eyed woman had planned for him, you’d obviously interrupted just in time.

The thought would have been more reassuring if your boyfriend wasn’t lying unconscious at the foot of the creature responsible. And only then did you fully appreciate the fact that Sam was nowhere to be seen. You could only hope that meant he was still safe. Still free to come after you and Dean.

With slow, small motions, you managed to shift your weight just slightly, easing your fingers toward the waist of your jeans at your back. The rope made the angle difficult, but you managed to grip your knife that was sheathed there and slowly pull it free. Keeping your head bent low, you began using a slow sawing motion with the serrated edge of the blade in an attempt to cut through the ropes that bound you.

The woman’s gaze was fixed completely on Dean as you worked. She stood completely still over Dean’s unmoving form, appearing utterly focused on him in a way that sent chills down your spine, and you couldn’t help but wonder if she was messing with his mind in his sleep. What the hell kind of creature could render you unconscious as quick and as easily as she’d done?

You couldn’t imagine….

You only just barely caught a glimpse of motion from the corner of your eye. You paused in your sawing motions with your blade and slowly turned your head enough to see Sam hiding around the corner in what appeared to be the kitchen. He was watching you intently, pistol in hand, a finger pressed to his lips in a gesture of silence.

You gave a little nod in the direction of the creature so he’d know she was there on the other side of the wall from him.

It all happened so quickly from there.

Sam nodded back at you, and Dean began stirring just as the woman spun inhumanely fast and met Sam as he rounded the corner. She slammed Sam with a force so hard he went flying sideways and hit the wall with a sickening thud. He collapsed to the ground in a heap.

“Sam!” you cried out in horror.

Dean had only gotten to his knees, but he grabbed at the woman in an effort to draw her attention away from his brother. The woman spun back around in a blur, dropping Dean to the floor and pinning him there on his back, his arms trapped at his sides. She straddled his waist, leaning over him. From this angle you could see her face from the side as she stared down at him.

If Dean had felt a sense of violation in the dreams she’d given him, you could only imagine the sick feeling racing through him at this intrusion of his personal space. You felt sick just watching it.

“Sam?” Dean was calling out, trying to rouse his brother in the only way he could. “Sammy? I could really use some help here.”

But Sam still wasn’t budging, and your heart sank as you thought about how hard he’d hit the wall.

You doubled your efforts with your knife, but the angle was awkward and you were only getting the blade against one strand of the rope on the edge. Daniel’s eyes were trained on you and your escape attempts. You decided that was probably for the best. Whatever this thing was, she seemed hyper focused on the men in the room, which meant you needed to get free. And fast.

The woman moved her hand to Dean's chest directly over his heart.

Dean’s voice rang in you memory, describing the woman from his dreams. ‘...She was sort of obsessed with my heart … kept trying to put her hand to my chest.’

“Look, I like it rough as much as the next guy,” Dean was saying to the creature, his chest heaving with exertion as he tried, unsuccessfully, to wiggle free or throw her off of him. “But this is our first date and I’d appreciate a little warning, or at least some foreplay first.”

“Get your hands off him!” you called out, forgetting your attempts at being inconspicuous. You wrenched your wrist, ignoring the searing pain radiating up your arm as you continued to slice at the ropes that bound you.

And that’s when it happened. What once had looked like a woman’s fingers and manicured nails morphed into long, black claws dragging down the length of Dean’s torso, shredding bits of the fabric of his t-shirt. The rest of her still looked human. Somehow that only added to the grotesque scene playing out before you. Dean cursed, chest heaving as he fought back panic.

Then she spoke for the first time. ”Your heart is all I want,” she said to Dean in a voice that sounded eerily human. “That’s what any girl wants, isn’t it?”

Dean was babbling now about how he had a lot to give a woman, bit that he’d sort of need his heart to keep beating in order to show her that.

Images flashed through your mind of the deep bruising you’d observed on Corey Baker’s chest ... the fracture in his sternum, the severe contusion to his heart muscle which had led to his death. As the first coil of rope gave way you adjusted the angle of your blade to keep working at the rest as a passage you’d read during your training came to the forefront of your mind. It was as clear as the words had been on the page the day you’d read them.

According to ancient Greek mythology, they were creatures with enhanced strength and agility, with the power to appear in human form, more specifically the form of a beautiful woman in order to seduce young men. They’d been known to feed from corpses.

And you knew exactly what you were dealing with.

A Lamia….

You cursed yourself for not having pieced it all together sooner.

My god, you thought with a panic. Lamia squeeze people's hearts and drink their blood.

Dean’s eyes were wide, the sound of his breathing was growing erratic as he sucked in air from between his teeth.

The lore had mentioned Lamia were vulnerable to silver knives that had been blessed by a priest. You honestly couldn’t remember there being one of those in the Impala, but you doubted you had time to get to the car to check and back and still find Dean and Sam alive.

“I wondered how long it would take you to come to me,” the Lamia was saying to Dean. “I’ve been waiting.”

Then you remembered something else the lore had mentioned. Lamia were also vulnerable to fire, but only after being coated in salt and a certain common herb. If you could only remember which herb it was.

Finally, after what had seemed like an eternity of cutting with the serrated blade of your knife, the last strand of rope gave way, releasing your hands. You bent forward, working to free your ankles next.

You jumped to your feet and were instantly torn about what to do first. You knew your strength was no match for the Lamia, so pulling her off of Dean was out if the question. You had to kill it. It was the only way to make sure everyone was safe. The good and the bad news was that the creature was so preoccupied with Dean it hadn't seemed to notice or care that you were free.

Lamia liked men. Which meant she was severely underestimating you.

“I’ve got an idea,” you told Dean as you dashed across the room. “Distract her. Buy me a minute.”

“I’ll just wait here, then,” Dean stammered.

Rushing to Sam’s side you dropped to your knees, feeling his neck. Relief washed over you when you felt his carotid pulse bounding just below the surface of the skin.

You dashed across the hall to the kitchen and began throwing open cupboards one at a time in quick succession, looking for the spice cabinet.Once you found the one containing small labeled jars of spices, you began rummaging through the contents, hoping you’d know the one you needed when you saw it. You quickly set aside a large container of iodized salt when you encountered it, checking over your shoulder and calling out to Dean as you searched.

“Dean?” you hollered, suddenly nervous about his lack of smart-ass commentary in an effort to distract the Lamia and buy you some time.

“Hey, whatever it is you’re cooking up in there, better make it fast food,” he called back to you. “I think she’s hungry.”

And then you saw the bottle of Rosemary you’d been searching for. You snatched it up and set it by the salt, scrambling to open drawers and cupboards in quick succession as you searched for something to use as an accelerant. You found lighter fluid under the sink next to a bag of cooking charcoals, and grabbed the bottle, carrying the items back with you to the living room.

You were debating about the best way to get Dean out from under the creature so you could scorch it when the sound of Sam coughing and gasping startled you. You glanced over your shoulder as Sam struggled to get himself upright in a sitting position, failed, and collapsed back to the hard floor.

“Sammy!” Dean was calling out again, panicked by what he was hearing without being able to see his brother.

Sam was wheezing and coughing. The doctor in you was dying to reach him, but none of you were safe until the Lamia was dead.

The creature was pressing down on Dean's chest now with both palms, hard enough to put intense pressure on his heart. The pained expression on Dean's face mingled with one of confusion as you sprinkled your salt - herb combo directly over the Lamia. The creature was so hyper-focused on Dean she didn’t so much as glance at you.

Dean was groaning in pain, and you imagined his heart skipping and struggling to maintain its rhythm as you opened the bottle of lighter fluid and pulled your lighter from your pocket, holding it in your mouth for quick access.

His face was turning red from exertion, and his eyes were wide with panic as he fought to draw in air while the Lamia forcefully pressed down on his chest.

You pulled your Ruger .380 LCP from your bra holster with your free hand and pointed in at the Lamias’s head. A shot wouldn't kill it, but you hoped it would be enough to get the creature's attention.

You gave Dean a quick nod you hoped he could translate before you squeezed the trigger, firing off a round at nearly point blank distance from the head.

Just as you'd hoped, the Lamia let out a blood-curdling screech and rounded on you. The face you found yourself staring into was no longer the face of a beautiful woman, but a bald creature with mottled skin and teeth that were as sharp as the black claws it was wielding.

You took a step back, prompting it to raise up on it's legs again in an effort to reach out for you. It was just enough room for Dean to slide free, and that was your cue to douse the Lamia in lighter fluid.

A quick flick of your lighter and a well placed toss was all it took to light the Lamia up like the 4th of July.

A god-awful shriek escaped its mouth as the flames enveloped it's entire being, instantly filling the room with heat and smoke, and the smell of burning, necrotic flesh.

You grabbed Dean’s arm with your free hand as he rose from his knees, coughing. “Are you okay?” you asked him quickly.

He nodded, straightening. “I’m good.”

You weren’t necessarily convinced that was true, but he was out of immediate danger.

“Do I smell Rosemary?” he asked, but he didn’t really seem to expect an answer, and you were too distracted to give him one. Dean seemed to realize just an instant before you did that the fire you’d set could easily get out of hand. “Go,” he told you, gesturing to Sam. “I’ve got this.”

You moved toward Sam as Dean removed Daniel’s gag and demanded, “Fire extinguisher. Where is it?”

You were mildly aware of the exchange between them before Dean dashed to the kitchen, calling out to a struggling Sam who was still lying on the floor to “Hold on, Sammy,” as he darted past you both.

You were on your knees next to Sam now, quickly surveying the gash on his forehead that had caused blood to trickle down the side of his face. Sam was gasping, wheezing as he tried to gulp down air. You were certain whatever was wrong, the smoke filling the room wasn’t going to help him breath any easier. You briefly wondered if you could get him out of the house by yourself, and then decided he wasn’t fit to stand, let alone attempt to walk with any success.

You rested your hand gently on his chest, feeling the motion of his labored breathing as he struggled to draw in air.

Dean had retrieved a small fire extinguisher from the kitchen and was dousing the flames with the fire retardant, effectively putting out the creature’s remains.

"Where does it hurt?" you asked Sam. "Your ribs?"

Sam shook his head adamantly. "Shoulder," he managed to say. "And my back ... I ... I can't ... breathe...."

“You can’t breathe, but it’s your shoulder and your back?” Dean asked as he kneeled down next to you both.

"You're doing great,” you told Sam, gingerly placing a hand on either side of his face. “Just keep it up. I need you to stay with me, okay?”

Sam coughed, the act causing obvious pain. He was gasping but managed a weak nod. You turned to Dean and said, "I need my med kit from the car. Now. Run."

Dean didn't hesitate, disappearing around the corner to do as you asked. You pressed two fingers to Sam's neck, feeling his racing carotid pulse. The veins in his neck were becoming distended.

"I’ve got you Sam," you told him as you popped the buttons on his flannel shirt in one swift motion. "Just keep breathing. In and out.... In and out.... I know it's hard. You're doing great."

There was definite crowding of his ribs on his right side, and his skin was turning a pale bluish color, signifying a significant lack of oxygen. All the signs and symptoms pointed toward a tension pneumothorax.

What Dean referred to as your ‘Doctor mode’ kicked in instinctively, and you refused to let Sam see how worried you were about how fast he was going downhill.

"That's it, Sam," you encouraged. "You've got this. Hold on for me.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Dean is out of immediate danger, Sam is in trouble and he's going downhill fast.

Dean's mantra was 'shit, shit ,shit,' as he rushed to the Impala in search of the med kit. He dug around in the trunk until he saw it - the one you'd stocked specifically to have with you on hunts.

He'd seen you loading it up with supplies at the bunker and it definitely held items he and Sam weren't used to packing. Items the two of them probably didn't know what to do with. Dean ran as fast as his legs could carry him to get back inside to you and Sam, setting the kit down next to you and opening it up.

Sam looked like hell. He was going downhill fast.

"Find alcohol wipes and a syringe," you told Dean as you grabbed your stethoscope and put it on, holding the bell to Sam's chest. Dean rummaged around in the kit, frantically searching. “Sam, part of your lung has collapsed,” you told him calmly.

“Wait, did you say collapsed?” Dean asked, eyes wide.

“I'm going to fix this,” you said to Sam, including Dean with a furtive glance.

Dean swallowed hard and focused. He found what you needed, tearing open the packaging on a couple of the alcohol wipes and offering them to you.

“Attach a 14 gauge needle to the syringe,” you added as you accepted the wipes from him. “They should be in the top there - the orange one.”

Dean did as you asked and then held the capped syringe at the ready.

"Pay attention," you told Dean firmly. His eyes snapped up to meet yours, and he realized that you actually meant for him to fully comprehend what you were about to do. "You need to know how to do this," you added. He could only nod, watching with bated breath as as you felt along his brother's ribs with the fingers of your left hand until you found the spot you wanted.

“Right here, in the space between the second and third ribs,” you said. You disinfected the area with alcohol and asked for the syringe.

Dean placed it in your hand, watching as you popped the cap off the large bore needle with your teeth. You looked Sam in the eye, saying, "I'm going to release the air building up in your chest. It's going to help you breathe."

Dean didn't know how you did it, but you were so calm, so collected. In fact, you were so obviously in your element, the waves of confidence radiating off you going a long way toward helping him stay calm while his brother looked like he was suffocating.

“You go in at a ninety degree angle just over the third rib, like this.”

Dean watched in horrified fascination as you slid the needle deep between Sam's ribs. He saw you pull back on the plunger until it came out, followed by the sudden hissing sound of air escaping from Sam's chest cavity. Sam immediately sucked in a breath of air, chest heaving with exertion. He exhaled, followed by another deep breath.

"That's it," you encouraged him as you withdrew the needle from his chest, leaving the catheter in place. You continued to watch and feel his chest as he fought to breathe again.

Dean's hand went to Sam's shoulder, trying to comfort him. "Deep breath in, Sammy," he said, pulling in a long, slow breath for Sam to mimic. Then he exhaled through his mouth, guiding Sam's breathing. He watched from the corner of his eye as you clipped a small pulse ox clip to Sam’s finger and put your stethoscope back on and listened to Sam's chest.

Dean studied the expression on your face as you listened intently. He felt a hint of relief when you gave him a little nod, answering his unasked question.

Sam was going to be okay now.

“Just lie back and keep breathing,” you told Sam. “You're doing great.”

His heart rate was slowing somewhat from it’s previous tachycardic state, and his breath sounds were symmetric once again. When you were satisfied his lungs were functioning at full capacity, you removed your stethoscope and hung it around your neck. You gently brushed Sam's hair out of his eyes with a hand, glancing at the pulse ox reading to find his oxygen saturation steadily climbing.

"Feel a little better?" you asked him. Dean watched as you carefully withdrew the catheter from Sam’s chest like it was nothing. You set it aside as Sam nodded in answer to your question. "You’re looking better,” you added. “Your color is already coming back.”

"Good," Sam muttered. "I worked hard... on this tan."

A laugh escaped your lips at that and you bent lower to inspect the gash on Sam's forehead closer. “You hit the wall hard. Blunt force trauma…. That’s what caused the pocket of air to build up in your chest. Where else are you having pain?”

“Nothing serious,” Sam managed.

“Your shoulder and your back? What do they feel like now?”

“The sharp pain is gone,” he answered.

You pulled the pen light from the med kit and checked his pupils, finding them to be equal and reactive. “How’s your head?”

“I’ll live.”

“Cut your forehead open, but I’ll clean that up for you when we get back to the room,” you said with a reassuring smile. “At least the bleeding has stopped for the most part now.”

Sam nodded and you turned, leaning against the wall next to him.

Dean was still crouching, one hand on Sam's shoulder, but his gaze fell on you. The crushing reality of what had just happened settled in heavily on him. He'd just watched you re-inflate Sam's lung with a damn needle. And just in time, if he could tell anything. Sam had looked like he was on the verge of blacking out, and it wasn't hard for Dean to imagine how dire the situation would be if you hadn't been there.

Sam seemed to be breathing better and Dean forced a smile for his baby brother, asking, "Wanna sit up?”

Sam nodded and let Dean help him get into a sitting position with his back against the wall. "Ugh, that sucked," Sam groaned, but he was smiling a little.

“Sit there for a bit,” you told him. “I don’t want you on your feet just yet.” You pointed at the pulse ox clip still attached on his left hand and said, “Leave that on.”

Sam nodded for you as he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall.

You got to your feet and Dean stood with you. You approached him, eyes searching him for signs of injury. You stepped up close and reached for the three buttons at the top of his Henley, freeing them one at a time and pulling the shirt low enough to inspect his chest.

There was mild bruising already forming over his sternum, but no other obvious signs of damage. You hesitated, flashes of the Lamia straddling him and pressing on his heart coming to the forefront of your mind.

“Hey,” he said softly, pulling your palm to his heart and prompting you to meet his gaze. “You got her in time.”

You took a deep breath, feeling some tension leave your body as you nodded. “Stay with him,” you told him, gesturing with a jerk of your chin toward Sam before you made your way over to Daniel.

He’d been silently watching the scene between the three of you play out after the Lamia had burned. It only took you a moment to untie his hands and ankles. He stood and rubbed his wrists subconsciously.

“Are you okay?” you asked him.

“Yeah.” He glanced down at himself and back up at you. “I think so. What - what in the hell was that thing?”

“A Lamia,” you and Dean answered in unison.

You glanced over at Dean and he shrugged, saying, “I didn’t figure it out until you spiced and torched the son of a bitch.”

“A what?” Daniel asked.

“Dude,” Dean added. “Don’t ask for details if you don’t really want ‘em. Trust me when I tell you ignorance is bliss.”

Daniel’s expression was startled. “You’re not FBI, are you.” It was more of a statement than a question.

“Not exactly,” you admitted, forcing a smile. “It’s okay now. It’s gone for good. You’re safe.”

“Safe? Don’t go throwing that word around lightly,” Daniel returned. “How is anyone safe if - if things like that exist?”

“Because people like us take care of 'em,” Dean told him. “Besides, your odds of running into something else like that in your lifetime are pretty slim, pal.”

And that was either comfort enough for Daniel, or he got so caught up in thought that he quit asking questions for a moment.

“What are you going to tell the cops?” you asked Daniel, following his gaze to the pile of ash and the burnt spot in the wooden floor in the middle of the room. The ceiling was blackened just above it, and there was white fire retardant residue all over the place.

“That I drank a little too much and burned everything my ex ever gave me, I suppose.” He shrugged and glanced at the three of you. “Fire got out of hand. Had to put it out…. My parents will believe that. That’s all that really matters.”

“Speaking of drinking,” Dean said. “I could use a beer if you've got one.”

You knew he was giving Daniel a task to take his mind off the situation just as much as anything, but Daniel responded with, “I can do better than a beer,” as he headed for the kitchen.

You turned your attention back to Sam then. He was still sitting against the wall obediently. You knelt next to him and took his hand, studying his pulse ox reading.

You put your stethoscope on again and held the bell to his chest, listening to several full breath cycles before moving on to the next auscultation point. Satisfied that his breathing was continuing to improve, you removed your stethoscope again and gripped his hand in yours in a comforting gesture.

"Has something like this ever happened before?" you asked him.

"Having my lung collapse? God no…. I'd remember," Sam answered.

"Yeah, I don't imagine you'll be forgetting what that felt like anytime soon," you told Sam. "And that's actually a good thing." Sam's chest heaved with a breath and he sighed, looking at you like he highly doubted that. "That sharp pain that radiated from your chest, up to your shoulder and all the way around to your back?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah?"

"If that ever happens again, and you're having trouble breathing, releasing that trapped air in your chest cavity is the only way to help your lung re-inflate, for lack of a better term.” You glanced at Dean. “I’m only telling you both this because now that it's happened, there’s a greater risk of it happening again."

Dean was certain he couldn't have heard you right. Had you just said there was a good chance this could happen again sometime?

Shit. Now he knew why you'd been trying to show him what to do.

In the moment you hadn't had time to explain, but now he really wished he could go back and watch a replay. You'd almost made it look easy, but then you made lots of things look easy that were anything but. He gazed at you, his brow furrowed. You were telling Sam that his being tall and lanky just added to the risk of his lung collapsing again.

"Lucky me," Sam said, but Dean thought his brother didn't look nearly as concerned about the news as he ought to be.

"If I'm not there for some reason," you said, "and it happens again ... "

"Dean, did you take notes?" Sam cut in, teasing.

Dean's eyebrows shot up and he blew out a breath of air, his cheeks puffing slightly. "Just like popping a balloon," he joked. But you could see the worry in his eyes that his attempt at humor couldn’t mask.

Sam let out a humorless laugh and closed his eyes, letting his head fall back against the wall again.

Dean swallowed hard, his gaze briefly coming to rest on you before he looked away again, shifting his weight and clearing his throat.

He was painfully aware of one thing. If he'd gotten his way before when he’d tried to keep you from hunting, you'd have been back at the bunker today, nowhere near close enough to help.

He imagined trying to call you, asking you to do the impossible and save Sam over the phone. He wasn't even convinced you'd have known what was wrong if he'd tried to explain it to you, let alone attempting to tell him how and where to use a needle like you'd done.

The thought made his stomach lurch.

Daniel returned just then with a bottle of whiskey. He held it out to you and you opened it, taking a swig and then offering it to Sam before you began gathering everything back into your med kit. If nothing else, the whiskey might dull the pounding that was certainly in Sam's head. Sam took two swigs before handing it up to Dean.

“You good, man?” Dean asked Daniel, looking him over briefly with a glance.

Daniel sighed, glancing around at the living room again. “Yeah. I will be.”

“Oh, and you’re gonna want to call your buddy,” Dean added. “Shawn, is it?”

“Shawn? Why? Is he okay?”

“He’s fine,” you assured him. “Just worried about you because you missed your date at the movies.”

Dean took a big swig from the whiskey bottle and offered it back to Daniel.

“Keep it,” Daniel offered. “It’s the least I can do. And, uh, while we’re at it … you don’t have to worry about me talking about this. FBI or no, you all saved my life. No telling what would have happened if you hadn’t shown up. Gonna try real hard not to think about that, actually.”

“It’s what we do,” Dean stated, nodding at him and taking another swig from the bottle.

Sam’s pulse ox levels were within acceptable limits once again, and you were more confident about letting him up. "Let's get you to the car, shall we?" you told him.

Dean pulled Sam to his feet with a hand and the three of you headed out the front door.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The healing continues at the motel room, but not all of the hurt is physical.

“A Lamia,” Sam said, shaking his head. “I just - I can’t believe we didn’t see it sooner.”

“The clues were a convoluted mess,” you added, placing the final butterfly bandage over the laceration on his forehead. “It’s easy to tie the feasting on corpses, the dream manipulations, and Corey Baker’s death together in hindsight, but it just wasn’t that easy right smack dab in the middle of the case.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Sam agreed. He was sitting on the edge of the motel bed next to you, the open med kit nearby. He’d agreed to let you doctor him after a hot shower.

“Thank God there was Rosemary in Daniel’s parents’ kitchen,” you said with a grin. It was almost hard to believe your fates had hinged on that one common kitchen herb.

“Thank God you figured it out and got free in time to torch her,” Sam said. He looked at you, adding, “You kicked ass tonight, Spider Monkey.”

“Thank you,” you said with a smile as you slide closer to him and put your stethoscope on. Resting a hand on Sam’s shoulder, you pressed the diaphragm to his t-shirt.

The faint lub-dub of his heart contracting was audible in the background, but the more pressing matter was the sound of air moving in and out of his lungs. You listened thoroughly, wanting to make sure he didn't actually need a trip to the hospital after everything. To your great relief, Sam’s breathing was slow and easy, and you didn’t detect any abnormalities to be concerned about in your exam.

“Your lungs sound great, Brawny.” You grinned at Sam as you removed your stethoscope and returned it to the med kit.

“I feel pretty good, considering,” Sam assured you. “Be even better after a good night’s sleep.”

“I’ll let you get to it, then,” you told him. “Sleep well.”

Sam caught your hand in his, giving it a squeeze that prompted you to meet his gaze. “Thank you,” he said softly.

You nodded and bent over to place a kiss on the part of his forehead that wasn’t cut.

“You want the TV on or off?” Dean asked Sam from where he’d been watching in silence from a chair across the room, presumably to give you space to patch up Sam.

“Leave it on for a bit,” Sam answered.

You spotted the bottle of whiskey nearby, the one Daniel had insisted you take with you after you’d taken out the Lamia. It was lying on the table next to Dean. You made your way across the room, picking the bottle up and giving Dean's shoulder a gentle squeeze, saying “I'm going to step outside for some fresh air if anyone needs me.”

You welcomed the cool night air as you stepped out into the parking lot. Baby was parked in the space directly across from the door to the room, and you greeted her with a warm, “Hey beautiful,” as you walked alongside her. You leaned up against the back of the car, gazing out at the moon that hung in the sky just left of the street light on the corner.

You took a swig of the whiskey, feeling the pleasant burn of it slide down your throat. Then, because you felt the need to keep your wits about you tonight, you gently set the bottle down a few feet away on the pavement.

You were no stranger to stress and high pressure situations, but you were definitely breathing easier now that Sam was. It was so different coming at an emergency from strictly a clinical standpoint when the person you were treating was a complete stranger. But seeing Sam in trouble tonight, and having Dean trapped beneath a creature that was determined to crush his heart? Well, that had rattled you more than you cared to admit. You suspected you would never really get used to it. It was just as well. It would keep you sharp.

You’d been outside for all of five minutes when you heard the motel room door open behind you. You knew the sound of his gait as Dean’s boots clapped softly on the pavement, making his way around the car to meet you at the back.

“Hey there, Winchester,” you said as he approached, glancing over your shoulder at him as he came to stand near you. You waited for the usual ‘Hey, Doc,’ from him in return, but he was uncharacteristically silent, avoiding eye contact. If that hadn’t clued you in to the fact that something was wrong, the rigid way in which he held himself - shoving his hands into his jeans pockets with only a glance toward the whiskey bottle - did the trick.

You angled your body to face him, reaching out to touch his arm. “Are you okay?” you asked. Dean didn’t so much as raise his eyes from the ground at your question. He wasn’t good at asking for help, and you suddenly worried that maybe he was hurting because of what has happened earlier. The Lamia had tried to give him a heart attack, after all. Just because she hadn’t succeeded didn’t mean he wasn’t suffering the effects of her attempt. Maybe he hadn't wanted to concern you with it until Sam was totally in the clear. You couldn't put that past him.

“Are you having chest pain?” you asked, your tone growing more concerned with each passing second as you took him by the shoulders and turned him to face you. You took his face in your hands, studying his expression in the moonlight. “Dean, honey? Talk to me.”

He met your gaze for the first time since joining you outside, and you saw what could only be described as remorse and anguish behind his eyes. His expression was heartbreaking as he took a step closer to you.

You knew everything you needed to know just by the way Dean threw his arms around you and nuzzled his face into your neck in broken silence.

He didn't have the words to thank you for saving Sam. To apologize for ever doubting that you should be there with them on hunts. To express how overwhelmed he was by today's events, and how close he felt he'd come to losing his brother. How close you'd all come to losing your lives.

You took a deep breath and wrapped your arms around him, feeling his heart beating furiously as you held him against you.

"Hey now, Winchester. It's okay," you said softly. Dean didn't move, his warm breath tickling you. You ran your nails along the hair at the nape of his neck in soothing motions, knowing he just needed to feel close.

To feel you.

You held him like that for quite some time, until eventually you felt his heart rate slowing. When he lifted his head off your shoulder he refused to meet your gaze once again. You cupped his cheek with your palm, waiting patiently until his eyes eventually came to land on yours.

"This is what I do best," you reminded him. "This is why I'm here." His green eyes darted to the side briefly before coming back to meet yours. "Let's not worry about what-ifs," you added as you brushed your thumb along the stubble on his jaw. "Don't torture yourself about what might have happened tonight. Please. Sam is fine. We're all okay. That's all that matters."

Dean's gaze fell to the ground again, but he nodded, and you watched his chest expand with a deep breath. He hooked an elbow around the back of your neck and pulled you close again, pressing a kiss to your temple.

He cleared his throat and the two of you sat in silence for a moment, resting against the Impala’s trunk.

He surprised you when he finally spoke, saying, “You know you're going to have to walk me through that needle trick again sometime, right? Because I can't - there's no way I'll get it ri-”

You cut him off by kissing his mouth, feeling the last of the tension leave his shoulders as you melted into him. He kissed you back, slow and deep.

Neither of you would have been up to much more than this tonight, even if you'd had the privacy, but this … his warm, soft lips on yours, the feel of his scruff tickling your skin, his solid body pressed up against yours, the sturdy beat of his heart against your hand. This was all you needed. He was all you needed.

And Dean needed you. Any last shreds of doubt about just how much he needed you with him had gone up in flames with the Lamia.

The two of you together - along with Sam - you were a force to be reckoned with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of Act 3.5, but not the end of the saga.
> 
> Act IV coming soon….


End file.
